STOP Early Journal Content on JSTOR, Free to Anyone in the World This article is one of nearly 500,000 scholarly works digitized and made freely available to everyone in the world by JSTOR. Known as the Early Journal Content, this set of works include research articles, news, letters, and other writings published in more than 200 of the oldest leading academic journals. The works date from the mid-seventeenth to the early twentieth centuries. We encourage people to read and share the Early Journal Content openly and to tell others that this resource exists. People may post this content online or redistribute in any way for non-commercial purposes. Read more about Early Journal Content at http://about.jstor.org/participate-jstor/individuals/early- journal-content . JSTOR is a digital library of academic journals, books, and primary source objects. JSTOR helps people discover, use, and build upon a wide range of content through a powerful research and teaching platform, and preserves this content for future generations. JSTOR is part of ITHAKA, a not-for-profit organization that also includes Ithaka S+R and Portico. For more information about JSTOR, please contact firstname.lastname@example.org. POETRY: A Magazine of Verse THREE IRISH SPINNING SONGS A young girl sings: The Lannan Shee* Watched the young man Brian Cross over the stile towards his father's door, And she said, "No help, For now he'll see His byre, his bawn and his threshing floor! And oh, the swallows Forget all wonders When walls with the nests rise up before." My strand is knit. "Out of the dream Of me, into The round of his labor he will grow; To spread his fields In the winds of Spring, And tramp the heavy glebe and sow; And cut and clamp And rear the turf Until the season when they mow." My wheel runs smooth. *The Lannan Shee is the Faery Mistress of Irish peasant romance.  Three Irish Spinning Songs "And while he toils In field and bog He will be anxious in his mind — About the thatch Of barn and rick Against the reiving autumn wind, And how to make His gap and gate Secure against the thieving kind." My wool is fine. "He has gone back And I'll see no more Mine image in his deepening eyes; Then I'll lean above The Well of the Bride, And with my beauty peace will rise! O autumn star In a hidden lake, Fill up my heart and make me wise!" My quick brown wheel! "The women bring Their pitchers here At the time when the stir of the house is o'er; They'll see my face In the well-water, And they'll never lift their vessels more.  POETRY: A Magazine of Verse For each will say 'How beautiful — Why should I labor any more! Indeed I come Of so fair a race 'Twere waste to labor any more!' " My thread is spun. II An elder girl sings: One came before her and said beseeching, "I have fortune and I have lands, And if you'll share in the goods of my household All my treasure's at your commands." But she said to him, "The goods you proffer Are far from my mind as the silk of the sea! The arms of him, my young love, round me Is all the treasure that's true for me!" "Proud you are then, proud of your beauty, But beauty's a flower will soon decay; The fairest flowers they bloom in the Summer, They bloom one Summer and they fade away." "My heart is sad then for the little flower That must so wither where fair it grew — He who has my heart in keeping, I would he had my body too."  Three Irish Spinning Songs ni An old woman sings: There was an oul' trooper went riding by On the road to Carricknabauna, And sorrow is better to sing than cry On the way to Carricknabauna ! And as the oul' trooper went riding on He heard this sung by a crone, a crone On the road to Carricknabauna! " I'd spread my cloak for you, young lad Were it only the breadth of a farthen' And if your mind was as good as your word, In troth, it's you I'd rather! In dread of any jealousy, And before we go any farther Carry me up to the top of the hill And show me Carricknabauna!" "Carricknabauna, Carricknabauna, Would you show me Carricknabauna ? I lost a horse at Cruckmoylinn — At the Cross of Bunratty I dropped a limb — But I left my youth on the crown of the hill Over by Carricknabauna!" Girls, young girls, the rush-light is done. What will I do when my thread is spun ?